I've Got You
by Meowbowwow
Summary: Drabble. Sleepy!Johnlock. Sherlock catches flu and John finds him shivering. Some cuddling and chaste kissing ensues. Fluff!


John felt restless as his viridian gaze turned multi-coloured in the television's flickering light, he aimlessly browsed through the channels, unable to drive away his boredom. Sherlock's cat like presence was absent from the room and so was his continuous comments that punctuated every dialogue on the screen which John found terribly endearing as well as annoying. More endearing that annoying, he conceded to himself.

The man had outdone himself this time and caught the bloody flu and was now sleeping (or making faces in the pillow) in his room. It had taken John a long time to convince Sherlock to let it go and give himself a break and he was happy to know that albeit grudgingly, his advice had been taken. The flu was bad and Sherlock's health was worst, even by his abysmal standards and John, being a doctor, took it as a prestige issue when anyone in 221B got themselves sick.

Giving up on the television as a hopeless pursuit, he checked the clock and found out that it was 11. Sherlock had been forcibly fed and _should _be sleeping by now but out of habit, John decided to check on him before he himself turned in for the night.

He carefully opened the door, trying his best not to wake Sherlock up and found the detective's back turned away from the door. He made his way inside the very dangerous room that looked much cleaner than what it had been when John had just moved in. There were still the random experiments but there was also this sense of organised chaos that John had brought in with himself, that Sherlock secretly cherished but would never say.

He peeked into the sleeping form of his flatmate, how childlike he looked in his sleep; his face wiped away from the ghosts of memory, the carefully practiced mask dropped off, leaving behind something very divine. John felt a sudden protective warmth in his chest, he would kill for this man, had killed already but wouldn't flinch if he had to do it again. He knew that if anyone tried to harm Sherlock in any way, they would have to go through John. Such was the depth of their friendship.

As John noted Sherlock's long body, draped in two comforters, he realised that Sherlock was shivering. It was very subtle at first but grew stadily, starting with a mild sniffle and turning into rugged breathing, with Sherlock trying to get his face under the covers. His body shuddered and John could actually hear the cold in his lungs. He didn't know if the violent shivering was from the flu or from nightmares, he didn't really care either, his instincts as a doctor kicking in as he checked Sherlock's forehead for temperature.

Sherlock was warm, _very _warm. John had expected him to be as cold as marble but he wasn't. The medicines had already been given and would kick in an hour or two, that much John knew. Without hesitation, he peeled his shoes and jumper off and gently sat next to Sherlock, trying to tuck him in. Sherlock turned and gave him a sleepy look, him beautiful mouth turned down at the corners.

"I feel cold, John," he pulled his comforters closer, drawing back a little against John's thighs. John gently lifted the covers and Sherlock turned around, snuggling close to John and tucking his head securely under his chin. John held him close, breathing into his soft curls, the protective warmth surging in again. He wrapped his arms securely against Sherlock's body, pulling him even closer till he could feel the shivering go down.

They lay there like that, John gently running his fingers through those curls, unable to hold himself as Sherlock hummed deeply in his neck, his warm breath grazing the hollow of his apple. John kissed the top of Sherlock's head, then his forehead. He felt Sherlock's dry lips brushing against his throat, then planting open mouthed kisses on his neck, never letting go. John didn't realise when sleep pulled them both in, they slept with their lips on each other, smelling, tasting, feeling, even in dreams.

However, the wake up call wasn't that smooth for John when he found Sherlock's body shaking with sobs, he was having a nightmare. He jerked in his arms and before John could fully realise what was going on, Sherlock's fingers were digging in his back as he screamed _no-no-noooooo_ repeatedly. John started massaging his scalp, the most effective calming therapy he knew and whispered in his ears to calm him down.

Soon, the sobs died but Sherlock still muttered, his hold never going weak. John cupped his face in his hands as Sherlock raised his teary eyes to him and kissed him on his forehead again, wiping those tears away and thinking for the millionth time about how he would never let anyone lay a finger on the man in his arms. He tucked Sherlock under his chin and began rubbing circles on his back.

"I've got you, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere, I've got you." he murmured against his curls and felt Sherlock calm down to his touch and lean into him again.

As morning danced on his face hours later, John found that they were still locked in an embrace. He sighed pleasantly and noted that the temperature had gone down and Sherlock looked much better. He was still deep in sleep, the sunlight playing on his curls.

John swooped down for another kiss, it was a beautiful morning.


End file.
